Page 2 of Wolf Heir
The chief was still cradling the dead Orla on the blood-spotted linen, mourning with a voice so broken it frightened even the most hard-hearted of the household. He would not notice his child’s absence until morning, by which time Morag’s instructions would be accomplished and the pack would be forever altered. Blair hesitated, but behind her Morag’s threat hovered like a curse; she gripped the baby tighter.
The adjoining chamber was dark. Blair’s sandals made no sound as she crept between the shadows, cradling the boy asif movement might shatter him. She paused at the outer door, heart hammering in her ears, and peered through the crack. The hallway was empty. She hurried down the stairs to the bottom floor and rushed to the outer doors.
She stepped into the outside air. It was colder than she had expected; the baby, sensing the sudden chill, whimpered once and then fell silent again. Blair’s hands shook as she walked the length of the alley, and the child pressed hard against her ribs. She grabbed a basket and slipped the baby inside it.
At least the rain had stopped. She avoided the midden, instead winding around the back of the cookhouse, where Morag had once told her the dead were sometimes left if they were not meant to be missed.
There, behind the stacked peat blocks, she knelt. The ground was muddy, black with the recent rain, but she dug a shallow hollow with her bare hands. Clay packed beneath her nails, and after a moment she laid the baby in the earth, covering him first with his own blanket and then with a patchwork of cold, damp peat. She would not leave him there to die however.
She did not pray, but she did weep—a soundless, biting sort of weeping that left her chest aching with the effort not to scream.
When it was over, she wiped her hands on the apron and stumbled back to the door, closing it softly behind her. In the room, Morag waited, her face as unreadable as ever. She nodded once and went to tend to the chief, who was still moaning over a body that could not answer.
Blair returned to the shadows, hugging her arms to her chest, and knew time was of the essence. She needed to move the baby somewhere where he could be taken care of.
Morag leaned in so close that her breath tickled the edge of Blair’s ear. “Did you do as you’re told?”
“Aye, mistress.”
Morag glanced at Blair’s dirt-covered hands. “Go wash up, now.”
“Aye.” Blair raced off and headed back to the baby, uncovered him, hiding him in the basket, and took off with him.
“The baby isna breathing. Morag, what do we do?” Senga asked, one of the maids attending.
Morag hid a smile and held the dead baby swaddled in her arms as if he were the most precious thing ever. “Aye. I’ll…I’ll tell the chief.”
“The baby died too?” Senga asked, sounding like she didn’t believe it. She wiped her brow of sweat and pushed aside a strand of black hair, appearing done in by the news.
“Aye. You can see that he did.” Morag straightened her posture, brushed off her gown, and had the unenviable task of informing Hamish that his beloved son was also dead. This couldn’t have worked out better for her. She’d work her magic on Hamish to ensure he mated her! She had a way of making men do her bidding.
Filledwith fear of being caught with the chief’s baby and distraught over Morag’s threats, but not wanting to harm the healthy baby quietly sleeping, she feared she would get caught up in Morag’s murderous scheme. Blair’s heart beat wildly as she exited the castle, through the inner bailey, and then down the hill into the meadow.
She couldn’t leave him with one of the crofters because she feared the word could get back to Morag.
She carried him to the river where she had seen some crofters fishing early in the mornings. With a heavy heart, she left the basket in the tall grass, praying someone would find the bairnsoon. She knew that Morag would do anything she could to marry the chief, become the next lady of Middleborough Castle, and provide her own offspring to the chief.
Which was the reason the chief’s bairn was disposable.
Blair had nowhere else to go. No other family to take her in. She was stuck working at the castle under Morag’s rule, and her stomach turned at the notion. She knew that if Morag learned Blair hadn’t killed the baby, Morag would murder her. But she worried that no one would find the baby.
After one last look over her shoulder at the sleeping baby in the basket, Blair vowed to check on him tomorrow, then returned to the castle with a heavy heart. She was fearful Morag would still learn the baby lived.
Elspeth struggledto birth her second-born son, while her mate Magnus lifted Tamhas from the birthing blankets, cradling the slippery heft of their son with a trembling but determined reverence. He had rushed through the necessary work—tidying up, cutting the cord—a little clumsily while Elspeth had told him what to do. She was a crofter’s wife, but thankfully had enough experience as a midwife for the crofter families nearby.
Magnus eased Tamhas into the old basket lined with a pelt, tucking the infant in, then promptly returned with her post-birth clothes—soft linen washed with the last of the summer soap—and a clean towel for the child. She watched him, her heart swelling with a quiet, almost painful gratitude. It was not lost on her how carefully he navigated this liminal moment. Her mate had never held a newborn before, but he wiped Tamhas gently, as if even a breath too sharp might startle the spirit fromtheir son. He smiled at her, sheepish, one hand never leaving Tamhas’s belly.
Elspeth’s body still trembled from the shock of birth, the way the twins had seemed to fight to enter the world, the way the second boy had simply…failed. Elspeth wept in the nest of pelts and blood-soaked moss. Magnus hovered close but uncertain, his hands soft against her salt-wet face, gentling her in silence.
“The goddess chose to take one, but dinna fret, sweeting. We have a beautiful son to raise still.”
But it was no consolation, though Elspeth tried to keep her spirits up—for Magnus and their son, Tamhas. Yet losing the twin was sometimes more than she could bear, and at the most inopportune times, she would break down and cry. Poor Magnus didn’t know what to do but take Tamhas and would cradle the bairn to sleep.
Magnus worried about her state of mind. But she attempted to focus her energy on Tamhas and her mate. She had been abed too long, though it was only the day after giving birth to her twins.
Elspeth felt the compulsion to go outside, breathe the air, see the world returning. She wrapped a well-fed and sleeping Tamhas to her chest, a scarf of thick fur binding him to her skin, and shuffled out into the sunlight. His blond hair looked lighter as the rays of the sun touched the strands, making him look even more like his da. Though she was surprised he had so much hair for a newborn.
The cool air shocked her, but she drew herself up, pulled her plaid wool shawl closer, and waved at Magnus planting in the field.
